


it will come back

by inkstainedindex



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedindex/pseuds/inkstainedindex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>inspired (slightly) by the song from Hozier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it will come back

**Author's Note:**

> this is something that's been rattling around my head for a while. it's only one chapter at the moment, but I'll be adding to it, I think. reviews appreciated!

It was the kind of a mundane Tuesday afternoon which more often than not resulted in 2B graphites meeting their demise in the Styrofoam of the ceiling tiles. The sun arced achingly slow, marking the time he waited on the sundial in the yard below, as the afternoon fell into evening.  It dipped, kissing the horizon as she pulled the Prius into the driveway, the last dregs of pink and orange catching on her hair, bringing the boring tableau to life at last. The Labrador piled at his feet straightened up, ears alert to the crunch of tires on gravel. 

“Honey, she’s home,” he spoke in a falsetto to the retreating mass of golden fur, nails clattering down the floorboards, followed by the frantic scrabbling at the door.

He rose stiffly from the office chair and stretched, cracking each of his vertebrae as his fingers threatened to touch the erasers of the aforementioned pencils. Shaking out his shoulders, his forearms, and finally his wrists, walked barefoot down the hall to the front door, carefully sidestepping the floorboard that he had meant to fix today, but hadn’t, and being pushed aside by the dog, who was acting as if Scully had been gone for weeks, not two days.

She slammed the door of the car tiredly and began her trudge up the path, as she juggled her briefcase and a large box of files, before placing the former carefully lid-like on the latter, cursing her new shoes that she had chosen to break in today, of all days. She glanced up, and saw his lanky form leaning against the doorframe, legs crossed at the ankles.

Her lips turned up in a small smile, and she bent to fuss over Honey, maintaining a vice-like grip on the box as she struggled to not be floored by the large dog, which was jumping up and down at her, threatening to dirty her coat with her clumsy paws. She shushed the dog down, scratching her between the ears briefly.

“No chance of you helping me with no shoes on, am I right, Mulder?”  She hiked the box higher in her arms as she rose, and made her way up the steps to the porch.

He grinned back at her, tipping his chin up.

“Nope. I just got a pedicure, and I wouldn’t want to chip it.”

“Uh-huh,” She cruised past him, whispering “Lazy-ass princess.”

He swooped behind her, shutting the door with a flourish before sliding his hands down her sides, poking and prodding her through the camel coloured coat as she shrieked out in surprise, “Mulder! Don’t! I’ll drop the box!” it jiggled and shuddered in her arms as he wrestled it from her grip, catching her briefcase as it slid from the top and placed it carefully by the door, not noticing how the papers near the top of the box moved on their own when he put them down, too busy turning back to deal with his flustered redhead.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, I remember-” he pinned her against the door with his hips to her stomach, his hands catching the back of her head as he bent slightly to kiss her. Only she was further away than usual. He looked down, and she wriggled her stockinged, red toes back at him, her black boots lying forlornly on the floor not three feet away, dusty from the driveway.

“They’re new,” she sighed, by way of explanation at the height change, “and my feet are sore. It was a hectic day-” he closed the gap between their faces, sinking his neck between his shoulder blades as he brought her lips none too gently against his, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones as he kissed her deeper, bumping against her teeth with his own, opening his eyes abruptly when she bit on his lower lip. She smiled at him suggestively as they broke away, looking slightly dazed, blinking slowly up at him through her upper eyelashes.

“Miss me much?”

He didn’t answer, but didn’t move away from her either, happy to stay as they were, when he saw her inhale, and smile. Honey sniffed the briefcase, as was her custom, but before she could further investigate the box, was distracted by the ping of the microwave, knowing food was near.

“Dinner?”

“Please, I’m starving.”

“I’ll bet you are, chomping into me like I’m some kind of Tofutti Ice Dreamsicle or common chocolate donut .”

“Well, you do have nice buns, Mulder. The best the Bureau ever saw.” She laughed, the sound resonating off the clutter in the hallway, spiralling away under his arm like a whirling dervish, smacking him lightly on the butt as she passed.

Making her way into the kitchen, she peeked into the pot on the stove, her aquiline nose wrinkling.

“Mulderr… is this the same stew I made on Sunday? That’s not safe to eat, in fact it’s downright-” Her hands began to wave in little flicks of frustration at the offending cookware. He sidled up behind her, sneaking his hands through the loops created by her hands on her hips, dipping his index finger into the uncovered pot, and she settled as he placed his chin on the crown of her head. His voice was soft and slightly distorted as he spoke to her, her leaning into him putting pressure on his vocal cords.

“If your mother could hear you denouncing her Irish stew recipe, Scully, she’d be pissed. It’s good until at least tomorrow, I think.” He brought his finger to his lips, catching her eye suggestively in the window, before swallowing and putting his hands back under hers.  He smiled at their reflection in the dying light beside the stove, noticing how her small, pale hands rested perfectly on top of his. Her eyes slid out of focus. She was quiet, and he was hungry in more ways than one.

“Scully?”

“Hmm?” he had startled her out of her reverie. She wasn’t the kind to back down from an argument where food was involved, he knew. His arm ached at the memory of the slap of the spatula from the pancake making session the week before.

“You okay? Did something happen at work?” he sounded a lot more concerned than he had meant to, sounding like a doting househusband. She turned in his arms, tiptoeing to peck him on the lips. She patted his chest reassuringly as she flatfooted once again, smiling that small smile of hers.

“I’m fine Mulder. Work was fine, just really busy.”

 

He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was hiding something, but he knew pressing her wasn’t the answer. He’d get it out of her sooner or later. She let Honey out the back door, shutting it with a click.

In the half light of the retiring sun she looked suddenly older, and weary. Mulder wondered, once again, what she was thinking.


End file.
